Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--I went for a haircut on Friday, and had to park my car roughly
one hundred miles away from the place.I
usually do that sort of thing on Saturdays, and had never encountered
such a cluster-fornication before.
It was really hot and humid that day, and I was melting by the time I
reached the building.And as
soon as I passed through the door I saw the radically tattooed girl who
works there lifting a giant dill spear to her mouth.And she spat in my general direction, “I’m on my lunch break
for the next fifteen minutes!”
Grrr…I just turned around
and left without saying anything.She
can jam that pickle up her decorated ass, I’m going somewhere else.
And as I hoofed it back to my car I realized I was within walking
distance of the post office.I
needed to mail an old pager back to my former employers, and had been
carrying the thing around on my console for at least a week.Maybe I should just take care of that now?
So I grabbed it, and the piece of paper where I’d written the address,
and made my way to the post office.My butt cheeks were awash
in perspiration by the time I finally arrived, and was happy to see that
the line wasn’t too long.‘Cause
a slower group of people there ain’t…
As I waited I heard something that sounded like a thousand birds
a-chirping.The heck?At first I thought a couple of robins or whatever had flown into
the place, and were now up in the rafters raising hell.But this clearly wasn’t just a couple of birds, it was lots and
lots of birds.
When it was my turn, I asked the guy what the crap was going on, and he
answered quite cryptically, “Chicks.”
Pardon?
He said somebody had mailed a bunch of baby chickens, chicks, and they were in the back room being processed.Have you ever heard of such a thing?Mailing chickens?!Was
this some kind of joke?
I laughed and asked if they’d been required to put a stamp on each
bird, and the guy apparently thought I was serious.He said, “No sir, that’s not the way it’s done.”
As
I was walking back to my car I had to pass the haircut place, and on a
whim went back inside.Why drive
all over town, and go through this parking crapola again, just because
of a grudge?Tattoo Girl began
apologizing profusely, and said something about being diabetic.Who the hell knows?
She never stops talking, and this time was
going on and on about CDs.She
said she still likes them, and buys at least one per week.Her boyfriend, however, downloads everything.When he does buy a CD he instantly puts it on his computer, and
sells the disc back to a store.
Whatever.I just grunted
when it was appropriate, and let her spew forth.She went on to tell me that most of her friends download as well,
because their CDs get scratched.After
a few weeks, she said, they’re not even playable anymore.
Can this possibly be true?I
have thousands of CDs, and God knows I play them.None, as far as I know, have a single scratch.What are these people doing with their discs to render them
unplayable after only a few weeks?Strapping
them to the bottoms of their shoes?
I thought about asking her, but I’d probably still be there listening
to the answer.So screw it.Who gives a shit, anyway?
--On Saturday I took the
oldest Secret to lunch.I
told him he could pick the place, and he said he wanted to go to Red
Lobster (or Ret Lopster, for those of you in
Atlanta
).I told him there was no
way in hell we’re going there, so pick another place.It’s good to be king...
We went back to the Chinese buffet, and it hit the spot.I tried to strike up a few “serious” conversations with the
boy, but he just wanted to talk about Knoebels.So that’s what we talked about.Apparently we’re going there next weekend?I was informed of this today.
After lunch we met Toney and the youngest Secret at a movie theater, and
we all watched the new Pirates
flick.Yeah, it’s not very
good, and also incredibly long.You
know that cliché where people say, “Sure, it’s three hours.But you don’t even notice!”That can’t be used in this case.Oh you notice it, you notice it real
good.
Once it finally ended, we walked outside and found several ambulances, a
fire truck, and two or three police cars.I said, “What happened, did somebody die of boredom?”This caused a few laughs amongst my fellow beleaguered
theater-goers.
That night we cooked hamburgers on the grill, and drank more than our
allotted number of Red Hooks.I
always liked that beer, but these were kinda disappointing.Has something changed with Red Hook?What’s the deal?Does
anyone know?
--On Sunday I spent the day
faxing out resumes, and running my hands through my hair.After dinner we went to the block party, and it wasn’t nearly
as much fun as last year’s.Probably
because the drunken harmonica master wasn’t in attendance; he was
reportedly drunk somewhere else this weekend.
There was a hare-lipped man there, who was the de facto host.He walked around introducing people, encouraging conversation,
and trying to keep things interesting.And it made me sad to realize that a person with a mouth like a
tea pitcher has far more
social skills than I’ll ever have.
It was fun to monitor the way he talked, though, as the evening
continued and the beer flowed.By
the end it sounded like somebody was turning his volume knob up and
down; you could only make out portions of words.
Oh, and somebody else was wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers cap(!), which
really glazed my bear claw.I wear the
Brooklyn
cap, not other people.It’s
like showing up at Matthew Lesko’s house in a suit covered with
question marks.It’s
simply not done.
--On Monday we took Andy
with us, and watched the Memorial Day parade go by.That was fun, in a Mayberry kind of way.The weather was perfect, everybody seemed to be happy and in a
good mood, and the parade was as interesting as small-town parades ever
get.
At one point a large retarded man broke from the crowd and began
marching beside a group of baton twirlers.He was stepping high and trying to emulate their every movement,
with a big shit-eater frozen on his face.Eventually his handlers got him back under control, and order was
restored.Good times.
I tried to get a good picture, but this
is the best I could do.
In the afternoon I went to
Circuit
City
in an attempt to take them up on their offer of “Every CD Is $9.99!”I jotted down a list of four or five discs I wanted (including
the new Dinosaur
Jr.), and had every intention of handing over some of
my money.
But they don’t have anything there.Have you looked at the CD selection at
Circuit
City
lately?I literally have
more music at my house.Pitiful. I assume it’s because the
young and tattooed consider a round piece of plastic to be far
too inconvenient?I
don’t know.But I
couldn’t find a DAMN thing to buy, and that’s a sad state of
affairs.
--
I went for a haircut on Friday, and had to park my car roughly
one hundred miles away from the place. I
usually do that sort of thing on Saturdays, and had never encountered
such a cluster-fornication before.
